


You Had Me At 'Skip Code'

by Katzedecimal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Gen, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, pre-Last Vow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary has a favour to ask of Sherlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a dark and gloomy day. Overcast, a high wind, it had been threatening to rain or snow or precipitate _something_ but just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Sherlock hadn't left his microscope all day. He hadn't looked up either, but when a shadow crossed the window to build up the fire, he said, "This is rather fascinating, John. It's tissue from a man who was **supposed** to have been dead for six weeks but the presentation is more like twelve. The corpse was found in stagnant water so the presentation is even more puzzling." He chattered on for several minutes about the odd state of the tissue before he finally said, "Come take a look at this, I'd value your opinion," and looked up. 

"Mary?" A quick glance around confirmed, no John. "Where's John?"

Mary dimpled impishly, "He's still at work."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she shrugged, "It's my day off. I was bored and decided to come over and keep you company."

"I don't need company."

"So I'm told," she smiled, "But John tells me you like having somebody around."

Sherlock shifted, embarrassed, "Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't want want to interrupt you," Mary smiled, "Why didn't you look up? That could get you into trouble. Really, I could have been anybody."

"No," he said immediately, "Not anybody. The front door opened but the bell didn't ring; a client will ring the bell, therefore, someone with a key. Someone with ill intent will sneak and try to avoid squeaking the floorboards, so, someone without a mission. Mrs. Hudson witters when she comes in and the last tenants just moved out of the C flat. Mycroft's umbrella taps on the steps and he always pauses before he comes through the door. Up until now, the only person with a key, the familiarity to come into the flat without knocking, and not feel obliged to speak, has been John." Mary just smiled. "So John thinks I need company, does he," Sherlock groused. 

"Not as such," Mary replied, "He says you seem more content, though. He's right." Sherlock huffed and she chuckled, "Your whole posture relaxed when you thought John might be here. You've been chattering to me for an hour."

"You could have said something."

"It didn't seem necessary."

He huffed again, this time in amusement, then turned back to his microscope. "There's tea in the cupboard."

Mary chuckled again. "John said you'd never make it. Is that because you over-steep it? You seem the type to get involved in something else and come back to tea soup."

Sherlock couldn't stop the smile from spreading, "Yes, exactly."

Mary laughed and rummaged around in the cabinets. "What are these, then? You've got teas named after you??"

Sherlock chuckled, "Oh, don't tell John about those. He gets very uncomfortable about the things our fans get up to."

"Ohhh I know. He doesn't even like me reading his blog, he gets all embarrassed about it," Mary grinned, "Fancy some 'Doctor Watson?'"

Sherlock smiled thinly but didn't reply. "I can't see why he'd be embarrassed about his blog. Well, other than the crap neo-romance novel writing, the obvious lack of editing, the appalling omission of any kind of evidence or analysis, and the generally unfavourable 'Sherlock is a weirdo' tone of it all."

Mary had doubled over laughing and had to wipe her eyes. "I think mostly he's afraid I'll start acting like a fangirl."

"You married him; I should think that would make you his biggest fan."

Mary laughed again as she looked in the fridge for milk. She found it, hidden behind a plastic shopping bag full of spleens. "Here's your tea, then. What are you doing with the spleens, by the by?"

"Hm? I'll be studying various types of blunt-force impact trauma in order to determine what type of weapons produce what types of tissue injury."

"Ahh," she nodded. She sipped the tea and sat down in John's old chair. "To tell the truth, I think he's most afraid that I'll find out about the fan art."

"And the fanfic," Sherlock chuckled, "Yes, that really disturbs him, people writing fictional adventure stories about us. I don't see why, that's practically what his blog is." 

Mary laughed again. "Does it bother you?"

"His blog? Obviously."

"I meant the fanfic."

"Not really, no."

"It doesn't bother you that there are stories about you being in a relationship with John?"

"No," Sherlock replied, "People have always believed what they wanted about me; this isn't any different. Well, I amend, it's different in one way - instead of believing that I'm a freak, they now believe that I'm a freak in bed." He grinned as Mary nearly launched her tea out of her nose. 

"Well, I suppose that **is** an improvement," she coughed.

"I imagine that'll stop now that he's married."

"Oh goodness no! There's a saying in fandom, 'The way to resolve a love triangle is with a threeway.'"

"And you know this because you've _written_ fanfic." He smirked as she laughed and nodded, blushing. "Really? Which ones?"

"Oh god, if I tell you, you're going to read them, are you?" Mary laughed, "Besides, I mostly write in the _Sleepy Hollow_ universe. I don't really go in for RPF, real-people fanfic."

"Well I hope you're a better writer than John is." Mary laughed again and Sherlock smiled, "Although I have read a couple of excellent fanfics. Don't tell John but I have several of them saved on my laptop."

"My lips are sealed."

"There's one set in northern Canada that I enjoyed and I like the one of him building a violin. Then there's one that's all text messages, a sort of 'what if John and I had met when we were teenagers.' And I'm rather fond of the one that has us held captive in an extraterrestrial zoo run by semi-sapient lava lamps. The premise is so utterly ridiculous that it's impossible to feel offended by it, although John would certainly try if he knew about it."

Mary's eyes lit up, "Blackcurrent jelly bed, right?"

"Oh dear," Sherlock chuckled. He took a sip and asked, "What really brings you around?"

"I have a few questions and a few favours to ask."

"Ask."

"Well... Is there anything I can do to help John with his nightmares?"

She hadn't even finished the sentence before Sherlock was up out of his chair and grabbing his laptop and a USB stick. "He responded best to minimalist composers such as Philip Glass and Arvo Part. I'll put them onto a stick for you. Following that logic, I composed a few minimalist pieces of my own that were quite effective. I'll put those on for you as well."

Mary nodded, "John said your violin would wake him up but he wouldn't complain about it. I don't think he ever realised it was deliberate."

"Unless you play an instrument yourself, you'll have to approach this differently."

"I'm sure I'll think of something. Maybe I can hide an iPod under his pillow."

"John sits in a particular way when he's likely to have a nightmare that night. I'll send you some images to study."

"Thank you. Did you find a way to prevent them?"

Sherlock shook his head sadly, "No. I tried everything I could think of, short of vigorous sex."

Mary grinned, "Well, for the purpose of completeness, I can report that that doesn't work either." They both laughed. 

"Anything else?"

Mary nodded, "I'd like to ask if you would be godfather to our baby."

Sherlock stared at her levelly, "God is a fiction."

"Hm, not **exactly** how John said you'd react, but the message is the same." She grinned, "I know. Education steward? You're aware of the state of modern education." She laughed at Sherlock's eyeroll, "Yes, exactly. We need someone who can ensure they get a proper breadth of knowledge."

Sherlock steepled his fingers thoughtfully, "I suppose he could assist in dissecting spleens."

"Oh god," Mary laughed, "And what if it's a girl?"

Sherlock stared at her, puzzled, "Why would that make a difference?"

"Oh I **like** you," she laughed again, "You'll be perfect as the mad uncle that all the kids love. I expect jam jars full of tadpoles and I expect to yell 'What on earth is he teaching our children' at John at least once a fortnight."

Sherlock smiled, "Well... I could start with British Sign Language? Studies have proven that signing accelerates language acquisition, increases cognitive ability and lessens frustration for the parents and child."

Mary's eyes lit, "I've seen those studies and we both think it's a brilliant idea. But I don't know BSL."

"I do."

"So you'll have to teach me as well."

Sherlock picked up his tea again. "Somehow, I get the sense that this is all an elaborate ruse to keep me involved with your family."

"There's no fooling you, is there," Mary chuckled then became serious, "If that isn't something you want, tell me now." Sherlock went quiet but there was something in his eyes, as though he was steeling for disappointment and didn't dare hope. "Of course I want you involved. You and John are so good for each other, it would be terribly wrong to let the two of you drift apart."

"I am reliably informed that that's what happens after a marriage."

"After that speech you gave at our wedding?" Mary countered, "There's no way I could let that happen. John cares about you just as much as you care about him and he just comes to life whenever there's a case. Watching the two of you in action at our wedding, watching both of you working to save the Major's life... There's no way I could let either of you lose that. And you really do have a lot to offer to a child. Of course I want you involved."

Sherlock stared into his cup, swirling the tea around and watching it spiral in silence. Finally he said, "Is that all?"

"No." Mary set her cup down and leaned forward. "I'm an older woman and this is my first pregnancy. There's a much greater element of risk," she said seriously, "I know it's unlikely, but should anything happen to me... Will you take care of John again? I know you love him as much as I do and I know he loves you as much as he loves me. It would comfort me to know he'll be well cared for if something happened."

Sherlock had fallen silent again. "John will always have a home with me," he said, "No matter how many years may pass."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary has a few quiet words with John about his best friend.

It was a dark and stormy night when John and Mary bustled into the door of their flat, laughing. They'd had an enjoyable evening visiting Sherlock over at 221b Baker Street, indulging in John's old pasttime of baiting Sherlock with crap detective telly. Mary had further won her way into Sherlock's heart by bringing a modest selection of revenge DVDs - namely, crap doctor telly for baiting John. True to expectations, it had only taken ten minutes before John was roaring out "Oh come on! That is **not** how that syndrome presents, don't the writers do any research?", sending Mary and Sherlock into laughter.

They hung up their coats and John went to build up the fire while Mary made tea. "You're both pillocks!" he accused.

"Turnabout is fair play, John," she laughed back, coming out with the cups, "Admit it, you had just as much fun tearing them apart as he does tearing apart the detective programmes."

"Yes, alright," John mock-grumbled, "And it was good to see him laughing like that, that doesn't happen very often. Ta much." He took the tea and sipped, "What did he give you?" Mary hesitated before drawing out the little vial on a chain. It was filled with a dark, ruddy, grainy substance. "What is it?"

"He picked it up in Afghanistan," she told him.

John looked up at her and frowned, "Afghanistan?! When was he in Afghanistan? He never told me he was in Afghanistan. What was he doing in Afghanistan?"

"Shutting down one of Moriarty's opium operations," she replied, "It.. was a very difficult case for him."

"He never told me he was in Afghanistan," John said again, looking troubled at the little vial. 

"There's a lot of things he hasn't told you, John," Mary said gently. 

"What is it, then? What's in the vial? It looks a bit like sand. Why would he give you sand?"

"It's sand and.. blood. He had tests done to confirm it. It's your blood, John. It's sand from where you were shot."

John gaped at her in horror. " _ **My**_ blood? He found where I was shot and scraped up the sand? Why would he do that?"

Mary linked her fingers around his and took a deep breath, "To remember you, John. To remind himself of why he was doing it all, why he was putting himself through everything he was going through. He needed something real."

John stared. "But.... when? When was this?"

"About nine months into the mission, after the fall."

"He's been carrying _my blood_ around with him all this time?"

"Yes."

"But... why?"

Mary took another deep breath and let it out slowly. "Because he loves you, John."

"Well yes, I know that, he said as much, but-"

"No, John... He _loves_ you."

"...you... you mean, like..."

"Yes, John. As deeply and as much as I love you. Maybe even more."

John stared at her in silence for several moments then stared down at the little vial of blood-encrusted sand. "He never said anything."

Mary chuckled lightly, "Well, to quote the man himself, 'What would be the point?'" She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder, "How would you have taken it, John? What would you have said? Whenever anybody implied a relationship, you've always insisted that you're not gay."

"I'm not!"

"Exactly, so he would have hung himself out to dry if he'd said anything, wouldn't he?" she said, shocking John back into silence. "He wasn't asking you to be, John. He knew there was no hope of a more intimate relationship," she said gently, "And he knew that if he let any hints drop, it would only lead to embarrassment for you, humiliation for him, and the loss of your friendship which he treasured dearly. Of course he never said anything, John." She took his arm and steered him towards the couch then sat beside him and held his hands, "He said you'll always have a home with him, no matter how many years go by. So, if anything ever happens to me, go where you're loved. Go back to him and let him love you, go dote on him. You loved doing that."

John's head snapped up, "Hang on, I don't 'love doting on Sherlock Holmes!'"

"Yes you do," Mary smiled, "You told me it was one of the things you missed about living with Sherlock. And he took care of you in so many ways, John. Ways you weren't even aware of. He cares very deeply for you and some of his ways of showing it can be rather subtle."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this _from my wife!_ "

"He gave up everything in his life to save you, John. He walked through fire to save you."

" **You** walked through fire to save me."

"Yes." There was another long pause as John digested that. "That's how I know, John. That's how I know that he loves you just as much as I do." Another long pause. "And I know you love him just as much as you love me," she finished softly.

John didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough, "I nearly kissed him. On our stag night, after the pub crawl. I wanted to. If that client hadn't interrupted, I might have done."

"Mmm, too bad about that client, then," Mary purred. John's head snapped up and he shot her a Look. She smiled, "But, on the other hand, if she hadn't interrupted, we would have had a murder at our wedding and I wouldn't have gotten to see you being magnificent." Another long silence stretched out. "Sherlock was just as proud of you, you know."

John sat on the couch with his head in his hands. Finally he looked up at her. "Mary... Where is this coming from? Why are you saying these things? Is there something wrong?"

Mary's gaze turned serious. "It's coming from the fact that I'm an older woman and there's a much greater risk of complications, John, you know that. We've talked about that. And I have a family history of early cancer. It's coming from a sense of realism and I want to know that if I die, someone will be there for you who treasures you as much as I do." She rubbed his shoulder and hugged him, "It's purely a contingency plan, love. You know? Like updating my will? You didn't freak out when I updated my will."

"That's because updating your will didn't involve..."

"Didn't involve two extremely close people who were ripped apart by circumstances they couldn't escape," Mary finished softly, "I've asked him to tell me if it's hurting too much to stay involved with us. Burning his heart out doesn't only mean killing you."

"Oh God," John cried. He buried his face in his hands briefly before looking up again, "Why am I only finding out about this _now?_ "

"It was already too late when he came back," Mary said softly, "He realised that when he realised that you were proposing to me. He'd thought he was interrupting one of your ordinary dates, you see. When he explained that to me, I have to admit, I laughed."

"It seems to me he's been telling you an awful lot," John said peevishly.

Mary shrugged, "Well, we do have something in common. And I've... been in his position before. I don't want to treat him the way I was treated. He's no threat to us and he doesn't deserve that. He died to save your life and you're living it, that's all he asks for. And he's so good for you, you just come alive when you have a case, both of you."

"It's dangerous."

"So is military life. So is police life. It won't be any different for me than it is for any police wife."

"Police have a high rate of divorce..."

"Oh, shut up, John Watson," she laughed and hugged him again, "I fully intend to look forward to many long years of sitting up and worrying about you, raising children with you, yelling at you over what that friend of yours is telling our children this time, and growing old with you."

John rubbed his face a few times before asking, "What do I do about Sherlock?"

"Well, I've asked him to be our Mad Uncle Sherlock and he's agreed to help us learn to sign with our baby. He's already thinking of experiments to do when the child is older, so I think it'll be okay."

"God... How can I face him again, knowing all of this? Knowing that-"

"Knowing that he knew this day was likely to come, regardless of Moriarty's interference? Give him _some_ credit, John."

"Well alright, but-" 

" _John._ "

".....Alright," John sighed, "Though God forbid anything **does** happen to you. I'm not sure even Sherlock Holmes would be able to hold me together."

She leaned over to kiss him. "He would try with absolutely all of his strength, my John."


End file.
